Shut Up and Dance
by TiggerFace
Summary: Shaw wants to be let out. Root wants to talk about it. They come to a compromise. Sort of. Set when Shaw is stuck underground. One shot.


I do not own them. (And for the first time ever I trust the hands they're in)

* * *

"You know, not only was I an accomplished therapist I was also the patient of one," she ducks, swings, is deflected. "So really it's like I'm over qualified. Your problems are almost beneath me."

"That's a little insulting. If I actually had problems I'd be offended." Shaw's slightly breathless as she darts forward again, managing to land a quick jab in Root's gut before retreating and circling again. Root grunts with the impact, but there was less power than expected so either Shaw's still testing her out or she's not as into this as she pretends to be. She grins widely.

"With weak throws like that I'm starting to think that when you asked me to dance you meant it literally." Shaw's eyes narrow and she darts forward letting lose in a flurry of throws that all fail to do anything more than sting. Maintaining her grin Root decides she's had enough and wraps her arms around her much smaller companion, backing them into the wall where she can obnoxiously (and gratuitously) rub herself all over the operative as she pins her.

Leaning in much closer than necessary she whispers "I'm disappointed Sameen. If you aren't going to talk about your frustrations you should at least exercise them out. If you don't want to do this I can think of more fun ways to-" she's suddenly flying backwards as Shaw finds the leverage to launch the two of them off the wall, and finds her arms empty as the force separates them.

She's still landing as Shaw turns to bolt towards the exit, determined to make her escape. "Oh no you don't" she mutters to herself, reaching for the taser she always carries. It isn't until she sees Bear barreling into Shaw that she realizes how useless the close-range weapon would be in taking out the fleeing woman and silently berates herself. The lecture may or may not come in Her voice. If she didn't love her God so much she might think she's had that implant too damn long.

Moving slowly towards the pile on the floor – Shaw is stuck under Bear while he gives her an enthusiastic tongui– licking – she cocks her head and hums in disappointment. "We didn't finish our dance. It's rude to just leave a girl on the floor."

If looks could kill Root would be dead several times over, the latest one occurring at this moment while Shaw tries to push the enthusiastic Malinois off. He refuses to budge – he won't until anyone but Shaw gives the command – and her glare grows hotter. If asked Root would say she's hesitating because Shaw needs to learn this lesson, needs to realize that she can't just try to take off without consequences. Shaw would never actually hurt the dog no matter how pissed or desperate for freedom she might be – something that doesn't apply to the rest of them – so it makes sense to give him time to drive the lesson home. If anyone could read her mind they would know her hesitance is not so much hesitance as a growing arousal that she hasn't felt in too long – Shaw looks ready to _really _hurt her and her body is not wholly opposed.

"Root." It's a growl that's half obscured by Bear's face but it shoots straight through her and she doesn't bother to hide the shiver that flows in its wake. Still, drool is starting to drip off Shaw's face which is killing the mood and if Root hopes to get anything other than sullen silence she should . . .

"Bear, af!" he complies instantly, trotting back to his corner and settling back in with his bone. John _loved _it when Shaw's moving in present to Bear was a replica of the femur she had given him at the library.

She looks back down to see that Shaw's rise from the floor is slow, deadly, every line in her body rigid and promising violent retribution. Root grins.

"It was Harold's idea really, in case we had to leave you alone down here or you tried to – well do what you just did. He pointed out that you would go through any of us but not the -" her sentence disappears as Shaw moves and wraps a hand around her throat. It's the exact position they were in when she lied about where John was, except this time she hasn't injected Shaw with enough tranquilizer to down an elephant. Her body _throbs _as her airway is slowly squeezed shut and she leans into it, wrapping her hands around Shaw's wrist. A small part of her brain wonders where Shaw's other hand is but the train of thought is quickly lost as the hand around her throat gets as tight as possible and spots start to swim in her vision. She's going to have bruises and the realization makes her eyes roll back in her head a little. Along with the lack of oxygen.

Suddenly the pressure (and pleasure) is gone and she's being dropped to the floor as Shaw takes a couple of steps back, causally wiping the last of the drool off her face with her sleeve. As Root stares in confusion and a lot of) disappointment Shaw strips off her coat and tosses it aside. An image of those biceps – that have been left bare by the tank top – flexing as Shaw slowly chokes her flashes through Root's mind and the disappointment doubles. It's warm down here – there's no reason for the jacket to have been on in the first place. Shaw could have caught heat stroke, could have become severely dehydrated from all the sweating the coat would cause. They should really institute a tank top only rule down here.

"And you're not even listening to me right now," her voice has taken that low, rough, _dangerous_, quality it gets when Shaw's mad and Root lets all the arousal that causes bleed into her voice.  
"Sorry Sweetie, needed a minute to get myself back together. What's up?"

Shaw rolls her eyes and regards her for a minute before smirking and gesturing her forward. "We never finished that dance."

Root pouts, she doesn't want to box right now, the type of violence she's looking for is more . . one-sided.

Shaw's eyes narrow as she gestures, the glare accompanying it telling Root that – like their first short lived attempt – this is a necessary step to keep Shaw from acting like a murderous child. She sighs and steps forward rapidly – moving into Shaw's face as she tries to dissuade her.

"Sameen, come on. We already established that you need to talk about your feelings because you can't punch them out so -" There's a flash of anger then a movement on her left before Shaw's fist connects with the side of her head and Root has a flashback to the punch in the tunnel after helping Jason Greenfield escape before everything goes dark. Way less fun than being choked into unconsciousness.

**#**

Her body is floating. Well, not so much floating as bumping along. As the grip under her arms tightens and her butt is lifted off the floor slightly she smiles. "Don't worry Sweetie – it get's easier with practice."

She's promptly dropped and Shaw growls from somewhere above her. "Good you're awake. You can get your own ass onto the bed."

Slowly opening one eye, Root peers up. "Does this mean you won't be joining me? Because if that's the end result of my being awake you're welcome to knock me back out."

"It's not healthy to take hits to the head hard enough to knock you out."  
Root laughs. "I know that too _Doctor_. But I think it's breaking your oath as well as bad form to be the one causing the hits to the head."  
Shaw rolls her eyes and turns to stalk off towards the cot, calling over her shoulder. "That oath was ruined when I became an assassin, and if you don't want to be knocked unconscious maybe you should learn hand to hand combat before boxing a professionally trained operative."  
Realizing she's not going to get help Root slowly clambers to her feet, testing her balance before following. "I don't think learning to box will help me when you launch a surprise right hook for no reason like that."  
"If you knew how to box it wouldn't have been a surprise." Shaw looks smug, again like a child, and Root can't bring herself to argue the point that causes that face. So she lowers herself onto the tiny bed where Shaw is already sitting and waits a moment.

"So, you wanna play doctor? I do have some bruising to be looked at and I have a feeling you're much better at role-playing than any other doctor I could go to in the city."  
Shaw's jaw clenches and Root suddenly has a sinking feeling in her stomach. The look of exasperated tolerance that tells her it's still safe to push has morphed into a flat expression that borders on anger. The window for flirting is clearly over but she's not sure either of them are ready for where this conversation could lead. Sure enough -

"At least you _can _go to any other doctor in the city. Instead of being stuck here like a rat in a hole, waiting to be picked off by forces bigger than it."

She reaches out to put her hand on Shaw's arm. "Sweetie . . ."  
"Don't!" She's violently shrugged off as Shaw whips around to glare at her. "You put me here, you don't get to be fucking placating now."  
"I'm not." She's determined to be calm, determined not to reveal how scared she is by Shaw in this situation. Harold broke The Machine in teaching Her how to care for people and in turn She broke Root, slowly and subtly imparting Her own morals as She sent her on quests around the globe in order to save it. And now it's biting her in the ass as she struggles to find the line between showing these new feelings enough to make the point she needs to and hiding them enough to avoid hurting or scaring either one of them. The problem is she doesn't know exactly what they are herself – can't put words to them. But they're there, always lurking and influencing her every interaction with Shaw in a big enough way for her to know they're real. And likely for Shaw to as well with how observant she is.

"So what are you doing?" It's a snapped question, the result of annoyance at being forced to wait for Root to continue and she flinches slightly. Making Shaw angry will just make this harder.

"I . . . Harold told me we have more to look forward to at the end of this than death. Maybe he's right, maybe he's not. But either way we can't get out without causalities. I've accepted that ever since we failed to kill the congressman. But God is on my side and that means I can control – no – delay the inevitable. Try for a happier outcome," She refuses to look at Shaw but feels the weight of her stare. "This war has been my destiny ever since I learned about Her, maybe even before. I'm willing to do whatever She wants or needs to stop this. But that doesn't mean that I'm not allowed to influence things based on what I- what the team needs. So I'm using that power to keep you here. I know it sucks, I know you want out, but we need you for a bigger role than getting gunned down in the street because you were too stubborn to listen and played into Decima's hands." Bracing herself she turns to look at Shaw, noting the intensity of her stare is not backed by the steely eyed look she gets when she's closed off. Good, she's listening. "You're important Sameen, and if you cooperate we might be able to get you out of here for good. But if you leave now – when it's not safe – your freedom will be very short lived."

Shaw's jaw clenches again and her hand twitches. Root's not sure it she's suppressing a violent or comforting movement and is shocked by her sudden burning need to know which. Before she can ask Shaw's low voice rings out around them.

"What about you?"  
"What about me?" She lightens her voice, trying to get back to the joking, light-hearted tone that is so good at deflecting the serious stuff. The look on Shaw's face tells her she isn't fooled.

"You're looking after me, after the team. What about looking after yourself?"

The ball that's been building in her stomach drops. She already had this conversation in a round-about way with Harold, but she knows Shaw will be less than satisfied with anything other than a straight answer. But she has to try.  
Leaning forward so their noses are almost touches she smiles at Shaw – genuinely smiles. And if her gaze flickers down so she's talking to the lips in front of her neither of them will mention it. "No need to worry. She always has a life set up and waiting for me."

Shaw leans back to study her for a moment, then suddenly her hand is flying out to grab Root's. _Hard._ Root knows she's not fooled, knows that Shaw easily reached the logical conclusion of definite casualties being mixed with Root's determination to keep the team safe. But she doesn't push for a better answer, doesn't growl at Root to give her a real response, doesn't even try to flirt her way into getting Root to fess up. Instead she stares intently at Root, her eyes scanning to take in every single detail. And nods once. "Good."

She squeezes Root's hand, loosens her grip, then doesn't let go.

* * *

A/N: This was originally supposed to be (very loosely) based off of Walk The Moon's song Shut up and Dance (hence the title). It got away from me.

I searched 6 different translators for the Dutch word for off – this was the only one that showed up more than once. If it's not correct I apologize.

Welcome to the roller-coaster that is my writing. I would use the excuse that I'm rusty, but rushed events and wild emotional swings are actually pretty standard so it would be a lie to blame it on that.


End file.
